A Nearly Perfect Christmas
by Yunagirlamy
Summary: A young Phantom’s daughter wishes for four things for Christmas: two are possible to get—the other two are not.


**Author's Notes: Hey, I needed to do **_**some**_** sort of Christmas story, right? So why not do a Phantom of the Opera one? This will be set when Charisse is eight-years-old. Why? Because that's the age I want her at. No special reason really. Oh erm… because Charisse is eight here, she'll be the NICE Charisse. So I guess it's a good change for once! Oh, and just bear in mind I am setting this story based on English Christmas traditions. Of course, Charisse and Erik won't be eating turkey or anything like that. Oh, I'm not going to say which Phantom it actually is, but there's a bit in this story which makes a reference to which Phantom it is. See if you can guess it.**

**Summary: A young Phantom's daughter wishes for four things for Christmas: two are possible to get—the other two are not.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything except for my original characters.**

**-- is a scene change or a different point of view.**

**Enjoy!**

**A Nearly Perfect Christmas.**

**--**

Charisse sat at the bottom of the majestic Christmas tree; her green eyes exploring each and every decoration rested upon it. The tree was decorated with red and green baubles, which to Charisse, looked like big cherries, hanging from the most magnificent, yet rare (for you only saw it in one month) tree. Strands of silver tinsel hung off the branches. It was the tinsel that Charisse loved the most; even though she was not even allowed to touch it (it was for this reason that the decoration was her favourite). Her father had said he feared if she _had_ got hold of it, she would have never let it go. Charisse smirked for she knew this was true. Then of course, there was the truly beautiful star that sat upon the top of the tree—Charisse felt proud of herself, for she herself had placed the star up there. Her father _did_ have to lift her up there, though.

Charisse's eyes then travelled to the bottom of the tree; and there they were. Ten, maybe eleven presents—all for her! Nonetheless, Charisse was not a spoilt child. She knew that most of her presents would most likely be new dresses. Not that she didn't mind that however; but there were two items that she had her eyes set on. The first item was a book. The cover was simply green, with a gold border around it. In the middle, in big gold letters were the words: "THE PHANTOM'S DAUGHTER". Charisse was intrigued by the book as soon as she saw it, and had wanted it straight away; because of the fact that _she_ was a Phantom's daughter herself and wondered just how right the author's imagination was.

The second item was a silver locket with a heart hanging off it. Just the thought of how much love and care it must have had made Charisse want to have it! Whoever had made it, Charisse wanted to congratulate and thank them for bringing such a beautiful piece of work into the world.

But Charisse sighed; she had never told her father about her longings. She was afraid he would get angry and call her an ungrateful child. Charisse would never do anything to willingly upset her father, so she kept her mouth shut. After all, children were meant to be seen and not heard. For now, Charisse would be happy for what she received.

The book and the locket were clearly meant to belong in the hands of another child.

"Don't be thinking you can touch one of those before Christmas Day."

Charisse glanced behind over her shoulder at the sound of her father's warning, but teasing voice. Charisse greeted her father with a warm smile.

"You know I wouldn't _dare_, Father," Charisse answered, "and besides, I have a tiny inkling of what they are anyway."

"I see," her father replied, sitting down in the red armchair. He beckoned for Charisse to sit on his lap. Charisse happily obliged; she stood up, practically ran over to her father (even though he was a short distant away) and dived onto him. "Oof," her father let out, "How many times must I tell you not to do that, Charisse?"

Charisse kept the smile on her face as her father's tone was not a reprimanding one. He was definitely in a good mood. Maybe now it would be a good time to mention her pining for the items she so dearly wished for.

"I'm sorry, Father! But I'm just so excited because it's Christmas time again!"

Her father sighed and ran a gentle hand over Charisse's hair, smoothing it down.

"Yes, I know child. We _must_ do something about these wild curls of yours. Where's that hairbrush of yours?"

Charisse immediately clamped protective hands over her hair. She _hated_ that hairbrush ever so much! Every time it went through her hair, it hurt her so much.

"No! My hair is fine, Father!"

Her father laughed and patted Charisse's hair; Charisse moaned and swatted her father's hand away. Charisse then decided that now it would be best to mention the book and the locket. She only hoped that her father did not get mad—after all, he had _quite_ the temper on him!

"Father…?"

"Yes, Charisse?"

"I wish to tell you about… some things I want for Christmas," Charisse answered cautiously. She looked at her father—he nodded for her to carry on speaking. "The other day, when Meg Giry and I went shopping in the city, I saw two things that were just… beautiful."

"And what were these… _things_?" Her father was frowning, but Charisse knew that he was frowning at her use of the word _"things"_ for she had been raised better than that. Charisse paid it no mind. As she explained earlier, it _was_ Christmas and she was _only_ eight-years of age. She was _bound_ to be excited, as any other child would be.

"Well…" Charisse started to rub her hands together; a sign of her nervousness. "One is a… book." She hoped her father would not ask about the subject of the book. "The other is a silver locket." Suddenly, she felt herself being pulled closer to her father. Charisse smiled and rested her head on his chest.

"The only answer I can give, my child, is you do not yet know what you are receiving—you only _think_ you know what you are receiving. This Christmas may be different… it may not be."

Charisse said nothing, accepting that as a reasonable answer.

She then yawned—she did not know what time it was, or how tired she was. She was however dressed in her nightclothes.

"I think you may be tired, child," her father remarked.

Charisse shook her head. "No! I'm not tired—" Another yawn emerged from her mouth and Charisse put a hand over her mouth to try and cover it. "My mouth just wants to make a noise of its own accord. It's trying to make its own music!" She abruptly found herself being lifted into her father's arms and being carried in the direction of her bedchambers.

"Your mouth is not trying to make music, but rather, it's telling you that you need to close your eyes and rest," her father said. "There's only one more sleep until Christmas Day. You need all the rest you can get, Charisse. You don't want to be too tired when opening your presents."

"Okay, Father," Charisse agreed, but only because she was falling asleep. She closed her eyes as soon as her father put her down gently on her bed. "Why don't I just sleep for one day then?" Charisse murmured sleepily.

"If you fall asleep for one day, you might miss something exciting happening," her father replied, smiling at her childish innocence.

Charisse yawned and said, "Doubt it…" Then she turned to the side, resting on the right side of her body.

Her father blew out the only candle that was lit in the room. "Goodnight, Charisse."

"Goodnight, Father." Charisse waited until her father shut the door, and added, "Love you…" She knew her father would not respond, regardless of what month it was. Her father had never actually told her that he loved her. He certainly implied it, but Charisse did not want implications of it. She wanted to hear the three words come out of her father's mouth. She needed to know that he loved her.

But, Charisse knew it would never happen.

Not in a million years.

--

Erik sighed as he looked at the Christmas tree. He only did this whole Christmas rubbish to make Charisse happy. Erik, on the other hand, hated the Christmas holiday. It was his mother and father's fault that he hated Christmas. Whilst they celebrated Christmas (but only for the reason that it was Jesus' birthday) they always locked Erik in his room so they would not have to "gaze upon the face of a demon". If that was not enough, his mother gave him away to the gypsies on his eighth Christmas.

Erik wanted to be the parent that his never were. And if it meant celebrating this useless holiday, then so be it.

Erik grabbed his black cape and fedora and put them on. He then went through a hole in the wall, which lead into a corridor. Erik turned down various corridors until he reached the ballet girls dormitories. He quietly entered the room, being careful not to wake any of the girls or alert anyone of his presence. He walked up to the top of the room, where on the right-hand side of the room, lay a fourteen-year-old Christine Daaé sleeping soundly in her bed.

Erik smiled at how much of an angel she looked. Her curly hair was spread over the pillow, and her left hand was curled up into a fist and was by her face. Her right hand was across her stomach. Erik noticed that the blanket was nearly off her, so he brought it up so it covered up her body.

Erik then leant down and whispered in Christine's ear.

--

Charisse had followed her father, because she could not sleep and she was curious of where he was going. But now, as she stood peering round the door, she wished hadn't followed him. She wished her curiosity hadn't got the better of it.

Because she heard those three words.

Those three words she so desperately longed to hear… and her father said them to _Christine Daaé_!

Charisse turned and ran back to their home, and as soon as she got there, she quickly went into her room and slammed the door shut with her back. She slid down until she was sitting, and then she brought her knees up. Charisse wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her head in her knees. She then started to silently cry.

Her father loved that Daaé girl more than he loved her. And she was his _daughter_!

Charisse then bought her head up and wiped away her tears. Why should she stay here if her father did not love her? There was no point. Charisse decided that she would just have to spend Christmas Day somewhere else… with someone that _loved_ her. Maybe not a relative, though.

She stood up and swiftly changed from her nightclothes into her normal clothes, which for now, was a plain, blue dress. Charisse thought to pack her other clothes and belongings, but she didn't have anything _to_ pack all her other belongings into.

Charisse then suddenly froze; she heard footsteps. She knew that they belonged to her father, so instead of standing there, Charisse picked up her nightdress from the floor, and put it on the left side of her bed, for you could not see over the left side of her bed from the door. Charisse then bolted it into bed, pretending to be asleep. She had got into bed just in time, as she heard her father open the door. He stood there for a few moments, and then Charisse heard him quietly shut the door again.

If Charisse was going to run away, then she was going to have to be _very_ quiet indeed. She waited until her heard her father's door close, and then she got out of bed, and put her boots on. Once she did up all the laces, she walked over to her door and ever so inaudibly opened it. She gasped at the sight before her—the lair was in complete darkness. Charisse had _never_ seen it like _this_ before! So now she would have to be extra careful about where she was stepping. But the quickest way out was only to her right.

So Charisse turned right, but instead of walking, she tip-toed, for she knew her father would not be asleep now and he had very sharp hearing. Fortunately, Charisse took after her father and managed to slip out of their home without alerting her father. Once she was out, Charisse ran and ran until she came to the main entrance. She considered herself that she had made it to the main entrance because it was all dark. The only light now was from the doors and even then, it wasn't that much light.

Charisse took a deep breath and then breathed back out again.

She was scared. Very scared indeed, for she was only eight. Charisse thought she'd be brave, but no, she was terrified. Never had she gone out at night before. She'd never gone out of the opera house all alone before. Oh, how she wished someone like Meg Giry were here!

"No!" Charisse whispered harshly. "I'm running away," she reminded herself. "They should not know that I'm here!" With those words spoken, Charisse ran out the doors—and a smile was immediately upon her face. It was snowing! Charisse adored the snow, like any other child. She admired the snow for a moment or two, and then carefully walked down the steps, loving the sound of the snow crunching underneath her feet.

Now that she was on the path, Charisse wondered which direction she should go in next. Both directions looked the same. However, the book and the locket were in a street to her left… so it was decided. Charisse would go left.

Her brown hair was covered in little droplets of snow, and she was shivering—she was not dressed warm enough. Charisse knew she would get a cold, but she was not really bothered. Her brown boots had snow on the tip of them and the tips of her fingers were turning red.

"So… cold…" Charisse muttered, and then she was struck by bad luck. She slipped on an icy batch and fell straight on her backside. As if that wasn't bad enough, a dodgy looking man came up to her.

"Hello there, sweetheart," he said, holding out a filth covered hand to her, "need some help getting up?"

Charisse shook her head. "No, I'm fine, thank you." She pushed herself up and went to run from the man, but he grabbed her arm.

"Now what's a little girl like you doing out here, all alone?" His tone was very suggestive, but Charisse being innocent, she did not notice it.

Charisse struggled to het him to release her. "Let go of me! I mean it!"

"Oh, is the little girl going to do something to me?"

"She may not, but I am."

Charisse froze. There was definitely no mistaking _that_ voice.

Her father. How did he manage to get out here so quickly? And then Charisse realised. He must have heard her and then followed her. Her father was, after all, the master of stealth.

"Who the hell are you?" the man asked, and let go of Charisse. Charisse fell to the ground, and used her arms to break her fall. She was surprised that her father did not catch her—and from that, Charisse could only assume that her father was mad at her.

"_I_ am the Phantom of the opera," her father said, and then Charisse found herself being picked up roughly by the arm—then she was pushed behind her father.

Yep. He was definitely angry at her.

"I can kill men in a matter of seconds. However, seeing as it is Christmas, I'll let you go. _BUT_, if I _ever_ see you again, there will be _NO_ second chances! _Understood_?!" Her father was very close to the man now, and was standing in a threatening position. The man just nodded and quickly ran away.

Her father turned round, grabbed Charisse's hand and dragged her back to the opera house. Charisse was not willing to go without a fight, however. She pulled with all her strength and stomped her feet into the ground.

"Charisse, _stop it_!" Her father suddenly yelled. "I'm currently in a _very_ unpleasant mood and considering it's nearly Christmas, I do _not_ want to have to discipline you physically!"

Charisse stopped and looked to her father with fearful eyes. She did not want to anger him any longer so she gave up and walked normally. Suddenly, her father lifted her up and carried her in his arms. Charisse laid her head against her shoulder and sighed.

This was not turning out to be a very good Christmas at all.

When they eventually arrived back in their home, her father set her down on a chair, and then stood with his arms crossed.

"Charisse," her father said, with a sigh, "why did you attempt to run away?"

"Because… you don't love me," Charisse answered tearfully. "You've never once told me that you love me."

Her father sighed again, got on his knees and held Charisse's hands in his own. "Charisse… my child… what are three simple words when there's actions? Everyday, I _show_ you that I love you—" He was cut off by Charisse gasping, and then she smiled.

"You said it, Father! You said that you love me!" Charisse then threw her arms around her father's neck. He laughed and stood up, holding onto Charisse.

"I suppose I did," he answered. "I would love you even more if you went to bed and _stayed_ there." Her father then carried Charisse to her room and put her down. "Get changed into your nightclothes and I shall be in shortly."

Charisse nodded; the smile still on her face. After her father shut the door, Charisse let out a squeal of excitement and quickly got changed into her nightclothes. After that, she climbed onto her bed, but purposefully kicked the blanket to the bottom of the bed, so that her father would tuck her in, as he did with Christine.

Charisse shook her head. _No_! She would not be thinking of that girl at a time like this.

She laid her head down and waited patiently for her father to come in. She only hoped he wouldn't be _too_ long. Naturally, he wasn't. He too had a smile on his face, though Charisse wondered if it was just for show, because her father did not smile all that often. Still, he was smiling and Charisse was happy with that.

Her father bought the blanket up till it covered her whole body and then uncharacteristically, he kissed his young daughter on the forehead.

"Goodnight, Charisse," he said, and then walked to the door.

"Goodnight, Father," Charisse said, and then added, "I love you."

Her father turned round and replied, "I love you too, Charisse," and then he closed the door, he being on the other side of it.

Charisse sighed in relief, and closed her eyes, falling asleep in a manner of minutes—for she was very tired indeed.

--

Charisse yawned and opened her eyes. She lay there for a few minutes—and then remembered what day it was. With a sharp gasp, Charisse sat up and reminded herself, "It's Christmas Day!" She laughed with joy and threw her blanket off herself. She hopped off her bed and then raced to her father's room. She climbed up onto his bed and shook him as hard as she could.

"Father! Wake _up_! It's Christmas Day! _Wake up_!"

Her father woke up and told Charisse to get dressed and wait for him whilst he got dressed. Charisse obliged and she now was waiting by the tree, eyeing her presents. She wished she just rip them open now! Strictly speaking, she couldn't actually rip them open because then she might rip whatever was inside the wrapping.

Soon enough though, Charisse heard her father's voice floating from behind her.

"I know you'll want to start opening your presents, but there are two presents I want you to open first."

Charisse turned round and saw that her father was holding two presents in his hands. Both were rectangular, but one was longer in length, and the other was bigger in width. Charisse smiled as her father handed the presents to her.

"Merry Christmas, Charisse," her father said when he sat down in his armchair.

Charisse carefully opened the one longer in length, and when she peeled back the wrapping, she saw that it was a black, velvet box. After tearing away all the wrapping, Charisse opened the box and gasped in both happiness and surprise. Inside the box was the beautiful, silver locket that she had so longed for!

"Thank you, Father!" Charisse cried with delight.

"No need to thank me, Charisse," her father replied. "Open the other one now."

Charisse nodded and took the other present in her hand, already having an idea of what it could be. Could it possibly be the book she had asked for? The one that had intrigued her with the cover? Well, she would only receive an answer if she opened it—so open it she did. Charisse excitedly tore away the wrapping and saw that green cover with the golden words: "THE PHANTOM'S DAUGHTER".

Not being able to contain her happiness, Charisse rushed to her father, jumped on him and hugged him—rather tightly.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!" Charisse yelled, all of her happiness seeping out through her voice. "This is a perfect Christmas!"

Well, it was a _nearly_ perfect Christmas.

Charisse still didn't have that one _other_ thing she longed for.

A mother.

**--**

**And that's the end! I hope you enjoyed that and I hope you enjoyed seeing a kinder Charisse! I had fun writing it, so I trust you had fun reading it. Please tell me if I kept Erik in character or not, I don't think I did. Then again… it does depend on which Phantom I used. Which one do you think I used? Please tell me in your reviews! Oh, and tell me what you thought of it the story!**

**Merry Christmas!**

**Yunagirlamy, 24.12.09.**


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